Addictions
by Rojas Walrus
Summary: Roy and Riza muse upon their relationship while in Ishbal. Rated for Sexual themes, not lemon. My take on another old royai idea. ROYAI
1. Chapter 1

**Sometimes the inspiration for writing can be found by realizing that you're not looking for the right thing. I find that reading some good melodramatic or/and angsty royai can solve that problem, in that I just found my problem. So now I'm back to writing angst/ semi-angst. **

**On a separate note, I ran into an interesting problem with "Royal Flush." I personally really liked it, and the reviews were all like "this is really good," but that doesn't really mean anything because in the end they are all like that. 5 reviews isn't BAD or anything, but what really made me irritated was that, like, 15 people gave a Favorite Story+ to it, only 2 of which had reviewed it. I'm confused. I can understand not reviewing, I'll admit that I'm not the best at that. But it seems to me that If a story is good enough to merit a Favorite Story+ then it's good enough to merit a review, right? Is that really too much to ask? **

**I know I should be grateful and all, but like I've said: Reviews are the equivalent of Heroin. I don't care what you say, even if it's just a comment on the authors notes, or something saying that I need stop being such a review whore, and I've always begged and pleaded for flames. My anonymous review filter is off, so you don't even have to log on. Any and everything is welcome.**

Alcohol

Addiction**:**2 **:** compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal; _broadly_ **:** persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful.

She was an addiction. His addiction. He knew he should feel bad about using her like this; just an object of relief, no more than a drug to dull the pain. He knew that he shouldn't be using her like this. She should be treated like a woman: loved and cherished, not fucked until her lip bled from biting it down too hard because they couldn't be caught. He wanted so desperately to _not need her_, to not drag her into his tent on the nights when the killing became too much. She claimed that she needed him too, but he couldn't honestly believe that was the truth.

She was his alcohol. The more he thought about it, the more it fit. A thousand times more potent, yes, and a hundred times more dangerous, but alcohol seemed the best way to sum her up, or at least, the best way to sum up the way he used her. On most nights he would simply turn to the flask, but he could never sate his thirst. They were in a war zone, and getting sloshed wasn't the best way to survive a mid-night raid. The few mouthfuls he was allowed to consume would help him drown out the non-existent screams, but it could only do so much. There were some nights, the nights when he was ordered upon civilians, that the alcohol would never be enough. It was those nights that he would turn to his Alcohol. She always made him forget, if only for a night. She had a way of commanding his attention, making it so she was the only thing he could focus on.

Of course, if they were discovered there would be punishment. Fraternization of the Battlefield could easily be a capital offense, and they both knew that. This was the one thing that kept him away on all but the worst of nights. The thought of her bullet-ridden corpse was too unbearable a prospect. He himself would gladly welcome the release, but they wouldn't kill him. He was irreplaceable. Her on the other hand…

He didn't know why she put up with him. He didn't know why she just _let _him guide her into his tent, when she knew that he was only doing it for the escape. He had asked her about it once, and she had said something that hadn't made any sense to him, and he dropped it after that. Because deep down he knew that he didn't want to drive her away, that he wasn't sure if he could do without his alcohol.

**As usual I don't know how much I like this one. I honestly never know until it's been a few days since I've written it and it has some reviews on it. So say what you honestly think about it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Once again, I don't think I like this one, but I feel it accompanies the other one quite nicely. **

**Thanks to Lyny Angell for being my [only] reviewer. Yays.**

Crutch

She never had any illusions about the way he saw her. He used her to forget the pain, the killing, the death. He fucked her too erase all the pain, if for just one night. She had never, and would never, call what they did in this god-forsaken desert 'making love.' Another time, another place perhaps, but they were murderers here. Murderers weren't allowed to love.

He took it a lot worse than she did, which didn't surprise her. He had always had a certain childlike innocence about him, and that had been mercilessly stamped out, corrupted and morphed into self-pity. It was a lot easier for her to take; she had never held mankind in such a light, having been ignored and made into her father's own personal chalkboard. No, she knew that mankind was fickle, so the transition into monsterhood hadn't had nearly the effect on her as it did him. He had this strange illusion that he was the worst demon in this hell, but she knew better. He was always at the front, always the one to sweep through with his waves of destruction, and never had to see the aftermath. Never had to see the soldiers who would toss infants into the air to catch them on their bayonets, never had to see the soldiers who placed bets on who could kill the most civilians in the least time, never had to listen to the soldiers discuss kills that they were proud of.

She had, and like the good little sniper she was, she could only let it happen.

She had used him too dull the pain once, but that was all she needed. But she still used him, if only in her own selfish way. Where he used her like some sort of drug, she used him as a crutch. An outside force to fill a part of her that wasn't there. The fact that he came to her, and only her, gave her some sort of twisted self confidence. She knew that she wasn't attractive, but he called her beautiful. She reveled in the attention he gave her.

It gave her a sense of purpose, and because of that she had devoted her being to him. She would do anything for him, including happily letting him lose himself in her on the nights when it was just too much. He had though that he was betraying her trust but really it was quite the opposite. The way he relied on her, the way he _acknowledged_ her had gained her unbreakable loyalty and adoration.

**Now I'm done with this and can pretend that it never happened.**


End file.
